


keen ears and sharp eyes

by kornevable



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Introspection, M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24724999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kornevable/pseuds/kornevable
Summary: “Lord Gautier and Lord Fraldarius are eating together. So what?”“Am I the only one who’s not blind?” Violette whines almost childishly.“If you are suggesting what I think you are, please stop,” Fabrice sputters, running a hand through his unruly brown hair. “Not only is it inappropriate, but it’s also not our business.”Among the soldiers of their battalions, Sylvain and Felix's relationship becomes a topic of interest.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 26
Kudos: 175





	keen ears and sharp eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Hellooo
> 
> I find the concept of battalions really interesting for this specific trope; knights gossiping about their lieges and not understanding what's going on is funny haha. Sylvain and Felix are seen through the eyes of OCs.
> 
> There are spoilers for the entirety of Azure Moon. Enjoy!

Richard Dumont is an average man, with average skills and average intellect. His blond hair cropped short on his head and his blue eyes aren’t what he considers his best physical traits. He’s not good enough to get into the Royal Guard, but he’s strong-willed and he wields a lance with accuracy, so that should count for something. He’s been part of the knights of Gautier for more than ten years, ever since he was a squire in his teens, and he’s been assigned to Lord Sylvain Gautier’s troops for the past five years. He’s older than him, and yet it feels like there is a whole world separating them—even when he discounts the fact he’s the son of a minor noble and Sylvain is his lord. Richard isn’t someone who takes his ambitions too seriously, and he hates doing more than what is necessary, so of course, he thought he wouldn’t be too put upon to obey the orders of the infamous skirt-chasing, good-for-nothing Gautier heir.

“Stop complaining.” His friend Fabrice Bertin, also part of the battalion for the same amount of time as him, levels him with an annoyed look. “We’re all alive and well.”

“You can’t tell me you didn’t lose at least twenty years of your lifespan with all the shit he’s pulled,” Richard growls, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Obeying the orders isn’t hard; they’re knights, vassals who do the bidding of their lord. Obeying the orders while knowing full well that’s not going to end prettily calls upon his hardened determination to never waver.

“Next time he’s all yours, I’m not carrying his sorry ass back to camp if he wants to get injured or die so badly.”

Fabrice rolls his eyes and shoves his shoulder, clearly not as bothered as Richard is, which is kind of unfair and unrealistic because Lord Gautier has caused them so much grief ever since they’ve actively joined the war after the Millenium Festival of 1185. Richard thought that, as a noble heir with such a mighty weapon as the Lance of Ruin, his lord would value his life a little bit more instead of throwing himself into danger, like he knows someone will save him one way or another. Or, he doesn’t expect anything at all and is just that stupid.

“Please don’t be so rude towards our lord, people are going to think you’ll betray us,” Fabrice sighs.

Well, Richard might actually do that and defect to Adrestia if he starts getting gray hair at only twenty-nine years old.

* * *

When Richard has nothing to do in-between missions or training exercises, he walks around the monastery. There is always a cat or a dog to pet to kill time, or some people to spy on to obtain juicy gossip and entertain his dull life that only consists of fighting, drinking, and more fighting. He doesn’t have many friends in the army, not for lack of trying but he just doesn’t know how to strike up a conversation and… keep going.

This is about to change though, to his dismay, as the two knights hiding behind a big tree in the gardens are loudly whispering and wildly looking around, pointing to something at the tables. Richard slows his steps, curious and more bored than he thought he’d be.

“I told you he’d accept!”

“When has he _not_?”

“I clearly remember that one time he locked himself in the training grounds until morning and left Lord Gautier waiting for him.”

Richard nearly trips over his own feet, his head swivelling around so fast that he almost breaks his neck. It draws the attention of the knights, who turn their heads in his direction to stare at him. By doing so Richard has now a clear view of who they are spying on and—he’s not that surprised to see Lord Gautier with Lord Fraldarius, actually.

“Aren’t you guys afraid of Lord Fraldarius hunting you down if he has wind of your spying?” he blurts out without thinking.

The two knights share a look, communicating whatever they can with their eyes. Richard doesn’t give a crap if they get caught, but if his own lord is involved in gossip with Lord Fraldarius, then he needs to know immediately because that would be the most interesting thing he’ll hear all week.

“You… are a Gautier knight,” the girl says, frowning at his collar that sports a small Gautier coat of arms stitched on the fabric.

“And you guys must be Fraldarius soldiers,” Richard deduces by the teal of their clothes.

However, before they can continue the introductions, they hear chairs rattling and an angry shout that can be only Lord Fraldarius’s.

“I’m done. Come find me when you’ve stopped being an idiot.”

Lord Fraldarius turns on his heels and leaves the gardens, as Lord Gautier follows him.

“Come on Felix, I already apologized. It’s not like I do it on purpose! I’ll be more careful next time…”

They are too far away for them to hear any more, but Richard has a good idea of what this is about. He glances at the table they’ve left, still full of biscuits, two cups of tea with one empty and the other half-finished. Well, someone will have to clean that up and that’s certainly not Richard.

“They’ve been arguing about the last battle and what they should have done to avoid unnecessary injuries,” the man supplies with a small smile. “Lord Gautier seems to care a lot about Lord Fraldarius.”

“They’re childhood friends,” Richard answers with a shrug. “And here I thought it would be interesting gossip…”

“Oh, but that’s the second time today Lord Gautier tried to talk to our lord,” the girl retorts. “They always seem to be together, don’t you think?”

Richard shrugs again.

* * *

Sparring with Fabrice becomes increasingly frustrating because the guy has gotten faster and easily dodges every hard swing of Richard’s lance. Someone wielding an axe shouldn’t be allowed to be so light on his feet.

“You’re putting too much weight forward.”

Both Richard and Fabrice abruptly stop what they’re doing, nevermind accidentally stabbing each other when they lower their weapons, to stare at the girl judging their spar. Richard raises an eyebrow.

“You again.”

It’s the girl from the Fraldarius soldiers, from a few days ago. She still has that stern look on her round face that makes her look really older than she probably is. Richard is sure if she stopped frowning so much, people wouldn’t run away so fast from her. She has black hair cut in a bob, just above the shoulders and curling inward. She’s rather small, only arriving at Richard’s shoulders, but he’s learned not to judge on appearances, especially someone who is actively fighting in their army.

“Are you a foot soldier or a cavalryman?” she asks, gesturing to them without a care in the world.

“Cavalryman,” Richard replies. “Most of us Gautier knights are.”

“What’s your name?” Fabrice interrupts with a smile, ever the diplomat.

The girl seems to need only one look at Fabrice to decide she prefers him over Richard because her eyes lose their hard edge and wow, Richard feels _so_ appreciated.

“Violette Moreau. I work for House Fraldarius.” She then turns to Richard. “I was saying you put too much weight forward, keep your legs steady and that should help you land more hits. And before you ask, I also use a lance in combat.”

Richard has met this Violette twice and he already feels annoyed deep in his bones.

“Do you need something or are you just here to lecture me on my skills?”

Violette rolls her eyes while Fabrice elbows him in the side.

“We should keep an eye on each other during battle,” she says. “I know our battalions don’t always fight alongside each other, but when we do, we should make sure our lords don’t do something too reckless.”

Richard doesn’t know if he should feel grateful there’s someone else who shares his opinion.

“They can take care of themselves,” Fabrice points out, putting the hand not holding his axe on his hip. “And we can’t be on the lookout for every one of their moves.”

“Well, that’s why I enlist your help,” Violette says. “I’m getting tired of seeing Lord Fraldarius yell at us in frustration whenever Lord Gautier covers for him.”

There is nothing Fabrice can retort to this, and while Richard still feels conflicted about the whole sharing the same opinion as a girl who probably should still be in school, he jumps at the opportunity.

“Deal. Lord Gautier has the nasty of habit of pretending he’s immortal, so we’re also getting something out of this.”

Violette laughs, loudly.

* * *

Defending the monastery is easier when they have clear directions, but also when Prince Dimitri is here to be a one-man army decimating his enemies before they know he’s reached them. Richard has seen the horrors of the battlefield enough times to be desensitised, or at least let his brain wander somewhere that is not the macabre sight of bodies littering the ground, but he’s still caught off guard when he sees his prince in action. Five years of hiding and survival, driven by vengeance, would do that, he supposes.

They finish the battle without a hitch; some people sustained non-lethal injuries and are resting wherever they can, and the healers must be quite confused if not relieved by the prospect of not spending two days straight mending cuts or keeping someone alive.

Richard and the rest of the battalion head for the stables, tired but satisfied and at ease, for once. Fabrice nudges his arm.

“I know you were busy reaching those ballistas so you didn’t see, but Lord Gautier behaved today,” he whispers, glancing around probably to make sure nobody is listening in. “You should have seen the way everyone looked at him at the end of the battle, we were all so surprised that he wasn’t bleeding!”

“We shouldn’t even be able to joke about it,” Richard grumbles.

“I know, that’s why I’m a bit hysterical about it.”

Fabrice is someone who is usually level-headed and composed, never straying far from the path of knighthood, but Richard knows that he conceals a lot of mischief underneath all that principled front he displays. Between the two of them, the biggest gossip is undoubtedly Fabrice.

They tend to their horses for a while, reveling in the peaceful atmosphere that always follows post-battle. Then, Lord Gautier saunters in, leading his black mare to her box to take care of her. He insists on doing it himself since he apparently wants to have the most beautiful steed to head into battle, so everybody just lets him do whatever he wishes.

“Excellent job everyone!” he praises enthusiastically, as if they didn’t just witness imperial troops being torn apart by their own prince. “I’m glad you’re all safe.”

“We’re glad _you’re_ safe, Lord Gautier,” Richard mutters, then yelps when Fabrice stomps on his foot.

However, Lord Gautier laughs boisterously, waving a hand around, not at all taking offense to this jab.

“Get some rest after this, you all deserved it. I, for one, am glad I can sleep tonight in a nice bed with charming company.”

The rule within this battalion is to keep quiet whenever Lord Gautier brings up his unsavory habits, at least until he’s walked away. Richard is pretty sure their liege is doing this on purpose to fuel the rumor mill for some goddamn reason, but that’s not his place to call him out on it—Lady Galatea is loud enough for all of them.

* * *

Two days later, in the dining hall eating fish cooked with too many spices, Richard is rudely interrupted during his meal by Violette slamming her tray on the table next to him, also startling Fabrice mid-bite.

“What do you want?” Richard groans.

“Look,” Violette hisses, jerking her chin towards the back of the room.

He glances at where she’s pointing at, then looks back at her.

“Lord Gautier and Lord Fraldarius are eating together. So what?”

“Am I the only one who’s not blind?” Violette whines almost childishly.

“If you are suggesting what I think you are, please stop,” Fabrice sputters, running a hand through his unruly brown hair. “Not only is it inappropriate, but it’s also not our business.”

“What? What am I missing?”

Richard attempts another peek at the two nobles, but he’s too far away to hear what they’re talking about and he only has view of Lord Gautier’s face. He’s smiling brightly, unable to stop speaking as he seemingly carries a conversation on his own, though he does sometimes pause and nods. Lord Fraldarius hasn’t left the table yet so their squabble from a few weeks ago must have been settled, or he’s about to get up and leave any time soon.

“They’re childhood friends,” Richard repeats a previous argument.

“I’ve worked for House Fraldarius for two years now, and I’ve never seen Lord Fraldarius so comfortable around someone,” Violette tells them in a conspiratorial tone.

“ _They’re childhood friends_ , miss Violette.”

“Lord Gautier is friendly with everyone,” Fabrice adds helpfully.

“There’s something we have to protect! Aymon agrees with me!”

Richard guesses Aymon is the black-haired man who was also spying on them the other day.

“How old are you, eleven?”

“I’m twenty, thank you very much!”

Fabrice makes a pained noise, while Richard heavily sighs. He did see this coming.

“You’re still a fucking child.”

Violette growls, stabbing her fish very threateningly, and Richard thinks that maybe he doesn’t deserve to be roped into this mess more than he intended—and that all started because he was bored and wanted to hear gossip.

* * *

The problem is that now, he can’t unsee it.

Working for House Gautier comes with the privilege of being associated with House Fraldarius. That wasn’t always the case, according to history, but the past years and the war against the Empire have made it clear that Lord Gautier values his friendship with Lord Fraldarius a lot; the five years during which Prince Dimitri was presumed dead, the armies of both territories would go on missions together, after Margrave Gautier and Duke Fraldarius exchanged information. Richard is familiar with House Fraldarius’s fighting style, if not with their lords.

He also knows that Lord Gautier isn’t fond of training (or rather, excessive training), so he can’t hide his surprise when he sees him with a training lance in hand, grinning at Lord Fraldarius who, as usual, looks about to murder someone. Fabrice wants to watch, though, and Richard doesn’t deny he’s a bit curious.

It comes as less of a surprise when Lord Gautier gets his ass handed to him, because Richard has learned early on that people from Fraldarius like being stealthy, quick and sneaky—all soldiers don’t fight this way, but Lord Fraldarius sure follows that trend. Lord Gautier didn’t stand a chance, with his heavy hits and defensive stance that seem to hold no more secrets for the other man.

“Do you think Lord Gautier is losing on purpose?” Fabrice whispers, a hand covering his mouth.

“I don’t think so. I wouldn’t last two seconds against Lord Fraldarius.” Richard shrugs.

It keeps happening; after dinner, Richard sees them heading to the training grounds, even when their men are inviting them to drink in town. Despite all the whining and complaining, Lord Gautier never refuses a spar, as if he enjoys getting beaten or flung around. His pout easily transforms into a blinding smile when he trails after his childhood friend (not that Richard is paying clear attention to his face, not really), and they immediately get to work not to waste precious time improving their technique. Lord Fraldarius looks the happiest when he has a sword in hand, eyes glinting with drive and face bright with anticipation.

If they’re not training together, sometimes they are just sitting in the gardens or near the pond to talk. Lord Gautier does most of the talking, but there is not doubt Lord Fraldarius is sporting a smile of his own, relaxed in a way that he never shows in front of his troops. Even when people are surrounding them, they always seem to be in a world nobody else has access to. Arms casually brushing, sitting close together, leaning their faces close to whisper something. It’s a bit… nice to see, maybe, but mostly it’s embarrassing, because Richard feels he’s intruding on something that he shouldn’t witness, oozing familiarity and serenity born of years of trust, so he always quickly leaves before he starts feeling even weirder.

Richard doesn’t mean to follow them, he just happens to stumble upon their private meetings because apparently the Goddess has decided he will invest his entire time to collecting evidence of the strong bond between Lord Gautier and Lord Fraldarius. That doesn’t mean he believes they are _a thing_ , since he can hardly imagine their fickle skirt-chasing lord settling down with anyone, but the more he looks, the more he realizes that Lord Gautier’s entire posture has rid itself of excessive pressure and that if he spends time with Lord Fraldarius, he has few opportunities left to go around picking up girls. It’s all hypothetical, of course, as Richard doesn’t keep his eyes glued to their every move, but perhaps there is some truth in their assumption.

And, well, at least Lord Fraldarius knows how much trouble Lord Gautier is.

* * *

Richard is going to lose his mind.

Not only are they boiling and getting cooked by the heat of the Valley of Torment and walking on the ground that is more lava than rubble, he has to listen to Lord Gautier’s complaining about being too hot when _everyone_ is too hot. And they’re saving water in case something bad happens, as if they haven’t made sure their little expedition goes unnoticed.

“Shut up,” Lord Fraldarius growls, probably just as fed up with Lord Gautier’s voice as everyone else. “If you keep thinking it’s too hot, then you’ll feel it even more, idiot.”

“Actual advice from you, Felix? I’m touched.”

Richard wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, and immediately regrets it when he remembers he’s wearing gauntlets and they fucking burn, Goddess fucking damn it.

“It’s my last advice to you, before I leave you here to rot.”

“You wouldn’t do that, you’d miss my presence that brings light to your life!”

“If you have enough energy to say nonsense, then you’re fine.”

Why did Richard decide to walk at the front? He isn’t even a high-ranking soldier in the battalion, he could have just stayed in the back rows of the battalion for his own peace of mind. Nobody is faring well enough to give a damn about formation, even Byleth seems to be focused on where her feet are carrying her while Sir Gilbert pretends he isn’t melting on the spot. Fabrice hasn’t said a word since they’ve entered the Valley, and Richard would have thought he got left behind if it weren’t for his hand gripping his arm from time to time for support.

“Are you seriously keeping your jacket? I can see smoke coming off your head, Felix, aren’t you hot?”

“Of course I’m hot, we’re surrounded by fucking lava!”

Richard tries very, very hard to invent telepathy by staring at the back of Lord Gautier’s head to tell him to keep his lips sealed, but unfortunately, he’s only a soldier wielding a lance with barely any affinity with magic.

“Not as hot as me!”

If Lord Gautier dies today at the hands of Lord Fraldarius, he probably deserved it.

The battle, though. Knights are trained to fight in all types of weather, but that doesn’t mean they’re good at it—it takes a huge toll on their body and their mind to so much as stay upright, so swinging around a weapon sounds like a tremendous effort. It’s regretful to see that House Rowe is the one who stands in their way, but at least they’re not better prepared than them in these conditions.

Richard didn’t bring his horse to avoid having another live being to give water to, so now he’s fighting alongside other foot soldiers, including Violette and Aymon, the latter holding a sword. The cavalrymen are trying to clear a path for them to finish off the enemies, which means that Lord Gautier is up there killing his opponents in one fell swoop with the atrocity that is the Lance of Ruin. Richard tries not to think about being impaled by the teeth of the lance and focuses on his own fight.

“You think you can shoot down that damn mage over the lava river?” he asks Aymon, who has a bow strapped to his back.

He nods sharply, and immediately switches weapons. Richard has been trying to dodge the thunderbolts but it’s getting increasingly frustrating to do so with all the swinging and the running around. He also doesn’t want to tempt fate and let the mage unleash a stronger spell to scatter their formation.

Violette is light on her feet, showing that despite her young age she knows what she’s doing and that she’s been training just as seriously as they have all been. Richard is impressed, but he isn’t going to tell her that.

“You take right, I take left?” Richard grins at her, and she huffs but doesn’t protest.

Their movements are sluggish at worst, and clumsy at best, but they still manage to make quick work of their enemies. Aymon has resorted to exclusively shooting arrows while Richard and Violette twirl their lances. The enemy forces are all over the place, probably panicked at seeing their numbers decreasing at rapid pace, so Richard thinks it safe to scan his surroundings to make sure no bad surprise will spring on him.

The surprise does stay away from him, but his eyes widen and his mouth is already forming words, but his warning comes too late.

“Lord Fraldarius, behind you!”

Lord Fraldarius whirls around, a flurry of blue and white, but he’s not fast enough to dodge the arrow that mercilessly gets buried in his stomach. Violette is cursing somewhere on his side and she rushes to her lord, while Richard and Aymon are left dealing with the remaining soldiers that won’t back down, even when they hear the arrival of Duke Fraldarius’s troops.

When Richard strikes down his last opponent, he hears the frantic galloping of a familiar black mare and he catches a glimpse of Lord Gautier cutting his way through people to get to Lord Fraldarius’s side, who stubbornly tries to stay standing despite Violette’s protests. Richard is too far away to know exactly what is going on, but he sees how agitated Lord Gautier is, hovering near his friend and wildly gesturing to his horse, most likely attempting to convince him to get on it. There is a lot of blood for a single injury, so maybe all this fussing is warranted if Lord Fraldarius is hiding further injuries. Richard surveys his surroundings one last time, then when he’s sure everything is fine, he pats Aymon on the back and he joins his liege, just in time to see him hauling Lord Fraldarius on his horse without a care in the world. Unsurprisingly, there is a lot of yelling involved.

“Put me down, Sylvain! The battle isn’t over yet!”

“Lord Rodrigue has arrived, things will be fine. You’re bleeding, do you want me to leave you here and die?”

“I’ve had worse in the past!”

“You’re already on the horse, Felix, stop arguing with me.”

Lord Gautier dumps Lord Fraldarius on his mare, mounts it and rolls his eyes when he sees Richard staring.

“You guys see what I have to put up with every day?” Lord Gautier chuckles, though his usual cheer is absent.

“I’m pretty sure we’re dealing with you in the same way,” Richard informs him flatly.

“Don’t talk like this to your liege,” Violette hisses.

“Nah, it’s fine, I’m used to Richard’s encouraging words.” Lord Gautier sounds a little more genuine. “I’ll leave the rest to you while I go look for Mercedes. Duke Fraldarius is taking care of the Gray Lion as we speak, go assist him if everything’s cleared on this side.”

He adjusts Lord Fraldarius in his lap, carefully not jostling him too much, almost cradling him with the way he’s holding onto his waist, while the swordsman seems to struggle not to cling to him for better purchase, all of this under Richard’s, Violette’s and Aymon’s eyes.

“Come on Felix, I’m not letting you fall but get a good grip on me, yeah?”

“Shut up,” Lord Fraldarius grumbles, but he does slump against Lord Gautier and one of his arm finds its way behind Lord Gautier’s back, his fingers curling around his waist.

Lord Gautier then kicks into his horse side and off he goes.

Richard is tired.

“Can I quit,” he says to no one in particular.

Aymon chokes on his snickering. “Can you do it after the war? You’re a good fighter.”

“Well, if these two men that are supposed to be our future leaders don’t kill me first, I hope the war will.”

“Stop saying nonsense and get to work,” Violette sighs.

* * *

Fabrice howls with laughter.

Richard thinks that he wouldn’t be laughing so much if he were there to witness the whole scene at the Valley of Torment. Some friend he is.

“Come on, don’t tell me you believe what Violette is saying,” Fabrice wheezes. “You seemed to find the idea preposterous.”

“I still do,” Richard grumbles, putting his face in his hands. “But I have to admit they’re driving me crazy. Their behaviors are driving me crazy. Look!”

The dining hall is full of soldiers coming from Fraldarius territory. Duke Fraldarius was seen with Byleth not long ago to discuss some plans or to deliver information, and it’s no secret that he doesn’t get along with his son. Lord Fraldarius has been avoiding communal places so naturally, Lord Gautier played the errand boy for him. Richard, once again, is definitely _not_ eavesdropping, but he overheard his liege saying that Lord Fraldarius will starve if nobody takes care of him. He looked a bit too happy to do it.

Right now, they’re sitting side by side in the far corner of the hall, across Lady Galatea who probably has gone through their banter and their nonsense her whole life. They’re animatedly talking about one thing or another while Lord Fraldarius is shoveling food in his mouth, most likely to get out of here as soon as possible, shrugging off Lord Gautier’s hand that keeps falling on his shoulder to nudge him into the conversation. Richard bets his first born that anyone else would have had their arm chopped off.

Lord Gautier leans close, invading Lord Fraldarius’s space like he has all the rights to do so to whisper something, and that must have been one time too many because Lord Fraldarius puts his palm on his friend’s whole face to push him away, cheeks red and uncaring of the muffled protest tumbling out of Lord Gautier’s mouth. Lady Galatea sighs, and so does Richard.

“See? They’re acting like… like teenagers.”

“I think it’s nice to see them so carefree outside of battle,” Fabrice says, thoughtfully. “The war made us all grow up too fast, so we shouldn’t expect them to be so mature, even if they’re our lieges.”

Richard frowns. He glances back at Lord Gautier, his eternal grin plastered on his face as he dodges Lord Fraldarius’s batting. There is something easy in their interaction, not shackled by expectation or image. Faerghan nobility has always valued appearances and the prestige of their names, but war doesn’t care about these titles—they have to prove themselves and how helpful they can be during this conflict. Gautier and Fraldarius are the last resisting forces against the Empire, and they can’t afford to fail. Maybe everyone is fighting like it’s their last battle, though a lot of knights, the heirs of these Houses included, must fight like it’s the first to many others.

“Relaxing and being ourselves are our only respite,” Fabrice adds with a smile.

Richard relents. “Alright. If they’re still teenagers deep down, then there’s nothing else we can do to put them out of their misery.”

“You’re not that old yourself.”

“I’m a grown adult, thank you very much.”

Fabrice pats him on the back, chuckling to himself as Richard glances one last time at the two heirs, now comfortably pressed against each other, shoulder to shoulder.

* * *

“You… want to know what I’ll do after the war?”

“Yeah, I realized I haven’t been the most communicative with my troops.”

Lord Gautier is grinning from ear to ear, casually leaning against the frame of the wall where Richard is tending to his horse. It’s early in the morning, barely moments after the sun has risen, and Richard doesn’t remember a time his liege has gotten up so readily during those five years following the start of the war.

“I don’t know, we have to win the war first,” he answers slowly.

“Don’t be such a pessimist, just imagine victory is already ours and tell me about your plans!”

It’s a weird question, but a legitimate one. He’s brought up the topic with Fabrice once or twice, only to kill time, without any real intent to act on what they’ve shared.

“I guess I’ll keep being a knight, offer my services for the Crown and help where I’m needed. I don’t have much of an idea, really.”

Lord Gautier hums thoughtfully, looking at the sky and a finger tapping against his chin.

“I guess that’s what most knights will do,” he says. “The continent won’t be at peace right after we defeat the Empire.”

“That would be extremely naive of people who think otherwise,” Richard comments. “Why are you asking me this? Do you have something in mind?”

Lord Gautier shrugs, his smile fading a little but still firmly in place.

“Not a lot of people have told me they’re going to leave everything behind and start a family, or go back to their loved ones. I thought that they’d rejoice at the prospect of quitting and living peacefully.”

Richard has thought about this, of course. He has thought about living in a comfortable house, doing paperwork and going wherever he wanted to fulfill whatever whim of the day he feels. But he’s been raised as a knight, has shaped his entire life around the concept of knighthood, and after spending so much time swinging a lance and riding in terrible Faerghus weather, he doesn’t know how else he can live.

“Maybe those people can’t picture what this kind of life will be,” Richard suggests. “I can’t, for my part. If I had someone to return to or if I had a dream completely different from what I have now, maybe I’d quit to pursue it.”

He thinks about his conversation Fabrice, about expectations and staying true to themselves, and smiles at Lord Gautier.

“Some people want to do their own thing, others like being swept by the flow of life, even if that’s not what they truly want. For now I’m just content continuing what I’m doing.” He pauses, studying Lord Gautier’s face that betrays none of his thoughts. “Does that answer your question?”

Lord Gautier, Richard has learned in the past few months, is someone who thinks a lot. He likes displaying a happy front and the whole battalion pretends they’re sick of his exuberant behavior, but Richard knows they all appreciate it, himself included. Lord Gautier thinks a lot but doesn’t share how his mind works with his soldiers, so this little heart-to-heart is most likely the closest he’s allowing himself to lay bare his thoughts.

“Thanks for your honesty, Richard,” Lord Gautier says warmly, unsticking himself from the wall to clap him on the shoulder. “I hope you’ll keep working for me in the long run.”

“Well, I just said I don’t know what else I’d be doing if I quit being a knight,” Richard snorts.

And Lord Gautier laughs at that, waving with his hand held above his head even as he’s walking away.

* * *

On their way to Gronder Field, riding miserably in uncertain lands with morale at varying degrees, Violette slides next to him despite the fact her battalion is all the way in the back.

“I don’t like this,” she announces, face scrunched up and unhappy. “Lord Fraldarius is on edge. I think he fought with Duke Fraldarius and His Highness again.”

“That’s not unusual, why are you telling me that?”

“That means as a soldier of his battalion, I’ll have to work harder to watch over him, since he’s going to be more agitated.”

Richard knows he’s mocked her for her age, but to be quite honest, Violette is packed with more maturity and wisdom than most.

“I’ll keep an eye on them,” Richard sighs, and Violette smiles gratefully at him.

When they set up camp a little after sundown, it’s Fabrice who tugs on his arm to point at Lord Gautier hovering near Lord Fraldarius. They are setting up their own tents, and even though Lord Fraldarius has his back turned to Lord Gautier, it’s evident he’s listening; his movements are brisk but his posture isn’t so stiff he’s rejecting the idea of conversation. They speak quietly, away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears. The upcoming battle isn’t a nice one and everyone is a bundle of nerves waiting to explode.

However, Lord Fraldarius is slowly turning his head, facing Lord Gautier without lashing out at him, which shouldn’t feel as extraordinary as it does. Lord Gautier wraps an arm around his shoulders, and still lives. They are still murmuring, tents forgotten.

Richard averts his eyes. He’s seen enough of their familiarity and the intimacy of their exchange to know that it’s not his place to judge. There are some things he’s not aware of, some events he’s not privy to, so he can’t understand the extent of their relationship—and if they’re happy and satisfied with what they have, then he’s glad for them.

* * *

The Battle at Gronder is a mitigated disaster. The Prince of Faerghus has come back to his senses at the cost of many of their soldiers’ lives, including Duke Fraldarius.

Richard is too exhausted by the fighting and too relieved at seeing his companions alive to truly process what this entails. The journey back to the monastery is silent and oppressive, and it’s only when they’ve reached the gates that people really start talking. Byleth and the generals of their army don’t call for a war council right away, to no one’s surprise. They all spend a day recuperating and trying to put some order in their personal feelings.

“This sucks,” Richard mumbles, rolling a piece of bread between his fingers, sitting on the stairs facing the pond.

“I feel so bad for Lord Fraldarius,” Aymon sniffles. “We should have been faster.”

“The girl was already one step ahead of us,” Violette grumbles, but her voice is wavering. “I wish I knew what I could say.”

“Sometimes, words mean nothing.”

Fabrice is looking at the darkening sky, deep in thought. Richard has always quietly admired his friend’s resolve and strength in times like these, but maybe he only saw what he wanted to, since Fabrice is clearly not holding it together as well as he’s thought.

Nobody in the Gautier battalion comments on the absence of their liege for several consecutive days at meal times or in the stables. The most they see of him is a blur of red and black running from one point to another, giving a tight smile to whoever looking at him or a wave to people he’s closer to. Richard doesn’t have the heart to ask him if he’s alright, because the answer is obvious when Lord Fraldarius still hasn’t left the training grounds. There is no proof either of them is sleeping.

This doesn’t last long, though. A week passes, and Byleth organizes a strategy meeting which Lord Gautier and Lord Fraldarius attend to. While Lord Gautier offers a tired smile to his troops, Lord Fraldarius remains silent. He looks like death has nearly claimed him, eyes heavy with loss, body stiff and guarded. Lord Gautier sticks close to him and guides him towards the meeting room, although Lord Fraldarius draws away from the touch like he’s been burned. They don’t quite look at each other either, there are fleeting glances that everybody seems to notice but doesn’t acknowledge. It’s uncomfortable to watch, and Richard feels bad for being glad he doesn’t need to step into the room with them.

Fabrice taps him on the shoulder and they go wait in the knights’ hall. Violette and Aymon are probably training or having a meeting of their own with the other Fraldarius soldiers; Richard is struck by the thought that he now seeks their company, when all this started with something as trivial as gossip. They were bound to see each other around, given their affiliations with their Houses, but it’s… pleasing to think of them as friends.

“Goddess, let’s hope this war ends soon,” Richard deeply sighs, and Fabrice nods his assent.

When Lord Gautier announces they plan on taking back Fhirdiad, expression a bit softer than the last time they saw him, everyone’s shoulders sag with visible relief, and Richard wants to believe that maybe the end isn’t that far away.

* * *

Lord Fraldarius doesn’t act any differently—he’s still harsh, all sharp edges and not mincing his words, but the tension in his body has lessened somewhat, or so Violette reports. Richard knows that Lord Gautier isn’t glued to his side anymore, so maybe that’s a factor to take into account, though the most likely reason for this appeased Lord Fraldarius must be Prince Dimitri’s look that’s not haunted anymore.

Richard still keeps a close eye on Lord Gautier, because his tendencies to get injured haven’t decreased one bit and the elation at the prospect of saving their people is a bit too palpable in the air. Richard usually isn’t the one to remain clear-headed, but it’s never too late to start acting responsibly, he supposes.

They rush through the city and storm the castle as fast as possible, not wishing to inflict more pain on these people who have suffered at the hands of Cornelia for so long. Richard’s lance has never felt both so heavy and so light at the same time, driven by adrenaline alone as he follows orders without even thinking, trusting his commander to make the right decision at such a critical time. Fabrice is a constant at his side and watches his back; Lord Gautier is laser-focused, speaking clearly and swinging the Lance of Ruin for deathly blows. The assaults are effective, even when these magical defense mechanisms slow their advance.

They win. The roar of the battle comes to a halt when Prince Dimitri takes Cornelia’s life, and the entire army shouts with joy.

“We took our Kingdom back!”

“We should celebrate!”

And celebrate they do. Richard is sore and can’t feel his legs anymore after riding and fighting for such a prolonged time, but his face is stuck in a grin and he pats the back of everyone he comes across, ruffles Violette’s hair even when she yelps, and puts his elbow on Fabrice’s shoulder as he peers at the food they found in the castle, for a hastily made buffet to the delight of many.

Glasses of alcohol are served and eventually whole bottles are passed around, and Richard is too busy eating and drinking to notice that most of their generals are also enjoying themselves and loosening up. He suspects Violette possesses a sixth sense to spot him in crowds as she pushes her way through to stand next to him and aggressively points towards the balcony.

“They went outside,” she says in what should be a whisper, but comes out very loud.

Richard glances at the double doors giving on the balcony, then shakes his head.

“Leave them be, Violette,” he replies not unkindly. “Today’s a day of celebration. They probably have things to say to each other, or something.”

Violette bristles and she glares at him, folding her arms and not looking as intimidating as she wants to with the flush on her face.

“I’m just hoping they’ll do… something,” she mutters. “I want them to be happy.”

And Richard is reminded yet again of how young Violette is compared to him, but only a couple years younger than the people they’re talking about.

“You care for your liege, huh?” he asks gently.

“Of course I do, I’m supposed to fight and protect House Fraldarius. That’s how I’ve decided to live.”

“Then let them decide what they want for themselves at their own pace.”

They’ve reconquered Fhirdiad and they’ve had a taste of what victory feels like. Their minds are muddled with this euphoria and they’re only thinking about how good it is to have control over something in this war, especially after what happened at Gronder Field. It’s a natural reaction to what they’ve been through—so rushing into happiness and desires isn’t on anyone’s radar, especially not on Lord Gautier’s and Lord Fraldarius’s. There is still a shadow cast on their future and the outcome of this campaign. That’s what Richard thinks, anyway, in this party where it’s easy to indulge in small pleasures.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. They always will have each other.”

Violette frowns, though her features relax and she nods. Richard then shoos her away to get a drink, but she insists on having one herself, so he ends up making sure she doesn’t pass out in the middle of the hall all night, to Fabrice and Aymon’s amusement.

* * *

They save Claude von Riegan, and they get to enjoy a few days in Derdriu as they prepare for their next march. They don’t get to sightsee but they still enjoy the maritime air and the architecture of the city so different from what they’ve seen in Faerghus and everywhere else.

When they’re about to depart, Lord Gautier laments not being able to stay longer.

“It’d be nice to come back after the war,” he says, and smiles at the army, but he quickly turns his head towards Lord Fraldarius walking next to him.

“That’s assuming we win,” Lord Fraldarius grumbles.

“I feel confident in our victory, actually. We’ve come so far, we have to keep fighting and things will go smoothly. We need to have faith in ourselves, stuff like that, you know how it goes.”

Lord Fraldarius eyes him not with annoyance or skepticism, but like he’s assessing him to decipher the hidden meaning behind his words. Lord Gautier keeps smiling, and when the silence stretches for a bit too long, he reaches for Lord Fraldarius’s unprotected shoulder and squeezes, face a bit more open and sincere.

“Besides, Derdriu will make a good vacation spot, don’t you think?”

Richard shouldn’t even be expecting the old reactions, now, because Lord Fraldarius doesn’t snap at Lord Gautier, as he simply shrugs, voice calm and leveled.

“I guess. I’m not surprised you’d think about slacking off.”

“You know me so well, running away from my responsibilities is like a sports to me.”

“Don’t joke about that.”

Lord Gautier snickers, hand still on Lord Fraldarius’s shoulder, and they don’t say another word.

Richard remembers a conversation about pursuing dreams and knowing what to do, about following a pattern or carving your own path. He’s getting too old if he’s pondering on all those philosophical questions when it’s not even about himself.

* * *

Taking Fort Merceus is brutal.

Penetrating the city of Enbarr is worse, with Hubert von Vestra acting as a master of strategy and showing no mercy.

The battle at the castle of Enbarr is a painful endeavor that will go down in history not only for being the event that marks the dawn of the unification of Fódlan, but also for its gruesomeness leaving behind countless bodies and curtains stained with blood.

Richard can’t quite believe it. He stands with Fabrice in front of the throne room, guarding it with their lives while their future king seizes victory, and when the doors slam open, the two leading figures of their army emerging from behind, it feels like a dream. But it’s real, it’s the present they’re living in and the one they’re building.

“The Empire is no more,” His Highness exclaims. “Emperor Edelgard has been defeated.”

Richard closes his eyes and breathes in, as the roars or joy and celebration reach his ears.

* * *

There is still much to discuss and many details to take care of in Enbarr, but they all eventually need to go home in Faerghus to establish political plans and other noble affairs Richard isn’t privy to. Lord Gautier addresses his troops the morning of their march back to Gautier territory, bright as ever though Richard now recognizes how strained his smile can be.

“It’s time we go home. I know we just got out of a war, but I suspect we won’t be able to rest for a while. When has Faerghus or other parts of the continent ever been free of unrest?”

Some knights laugh nervously at the reminder of the situation Faerghus has been in ever since the death of King Lambert, and Richard has to admit he doesn’t remember a period of total peace. Living at the border with Sreng means the battles won't stop unless they agree on a treaty that will involve negotiations some higher-ups probably aren't ready for yet.

“However, if you wish to leave this life of struggle and battle behind, I won't stop you. You all deserve a future that's not carved in blood.”

He's giving them a choice even though he perfectly knows that a lot of them doesn't have anything else besides their weapon and his orders.

“Well, you've been informed of your freedom to choose to live in the woods among birds and fish instead of waking up every morning to go through drills that will make you sweat. I for one would love to sleep all day.”

This elicits a more genuine and carefree laugh, and Richard smiles.

The entire army moves back to Faerghus. Those who want to go back to their hometown leave one by one, Ashe Ubert returns to Gaspard, Lady Galatea takes her battalion to her territory, and Prince Dimitri along with Annette Dominic and Mercedes von Martritz, as well as Dedue Molinaro, take the path to Fhirdiad. Richard expects them to go too, but apparently Lord Fraldarius has matters to settle first in his own estate before joining His Highness for the coronation preparations.

However, Richard doesn’t raise questions at all when Lord Gautier doesn't lead them further North.

The Fraldarius Castle is big enough to accommodate them all, and the stables aren't of the quality of the Gautier's but they serve their purpose. Lord Fraldarius tells them they're free to do as they please so long they don't destroy property or do anything stupid, which means they should make themselves scarce.

It’s quiet. Winning a war and discussing the next political moves should have brought more chaos than this airy mood, but Richard isn’t complaining. As knights, they’re not at the heart of these meetings and they have no business knowing what is decided behind closed doors. He’s content just training and basking in the rays of sunshine they have at midday, and enjoying this new routine.

Violette is excited to show them around the castle, despite the fact she probably knows it’s not their first time setting foot here, but Richard lets her have her fun. They’re currently sitting at a table in the gardens, where she insists it’s fine for them to be, sipping tea and admiring the flowers that seem to have been carefully taken care of.

“Duke Fraldarius loved the gardens,” Violette informs them with a nod.

Fabrice makes small talk and Aymon is eager to tell the history of the estate, and Richard looks around, spotting two figures striding towards another part of the castle. Lord Gautier is talking earnestly with grand gestures, while Lord Fraldarius has his head slightly inclined but he’s without a doubt focused on the words he’s hearing. They make such a natural sight—walking side by side, looking at each other and listening to every word like they hold an universal truth in them. Lord Fraldarius turns his head and points to something, and Lord Gautier follows the finger with his eyes before he quickly drops his gaze and shifts his attention to the longer ponytail that’s bouncing with every step Lord Fraldarius makes. He casually brushes the strands of hair with his fingers and his mouth is moving, which must have been an unwanted comment because Lord Fraldarius startles and inches away, but Lord Gautier’s laughter resounds loudly.

Richard squints, as the two of them are drawing further away, but he catches the glimpse of a colorful leather band that he’s sure he never saw during the war. It’s a deep red that matches well with Lord Fraldarius’s dark hair, like it’s the only color he will allow on his person that’s not the customary Faerghus blue. Richard doesn’t believe he understands who Lord Fraldarius really is, nor does he pretend he fully understands his own liege, but at that moment, surrounded by familiar walls and an idyllic landscape, he thinks that it’s not strange at all to see them roaming Castle Fraldarius like they belong there.

* * *

Some people left for Gautier territory in advance and most likely won’t be present for the coronation ceremony, but it was their choice. Lord Gautier hasn’t expressed the desire to visit his parents despite the current situation, and the days pass until it is time to go back to Fhirdiad. Richard thinks that his liege has made a decision that goes beyond simple pettiness by not going home yet.

“Do you have dreams, Lord Gautier?”

They’re only a handful of Gautier knights left in Fraldarius now, so Richard isn’t too worried about potential eavesdropping and leaking information. The stables are big enough that their conversation won’t carry to other people’s ears, and judging by Lord Gautier’s easy smile, he knows it. There is something like approval in his eyes.

“Everyone has dreams,” he answers. “I remember you said you don’t know what else you’ll do if you weren’t a knight, but surely you look forward to something in life.”

“That’s another way to put things into perspective, I guess.”

Lord Gautier nods, crossing his arms over his chest, and waits. Spending time in Fraldarius without the heavy weight of immediate responsibility abated the guarded look he’s had on his face for months.

“I feel you have something else to say,” he points out, raising an eyebrow.

Richard grins. “I’m glad to keep working for you, milord. Your safety on the battlefield has always been my priority and sometimes you really made it difficult to keep you in one piece.”

Lord Gautier laughs at this, dismissing the issue with a wave of his hand like he didn’t cause major anxiety for his troops for years, but Richard doesn’t hold it against him anymore.

“I’ve followed your orders and I’ll continue to do so. If you decide that your dreams aren’t in Gautier territory and you need an escort, or someone to keep your secrets… well, let’s say you’ve gained some trustworthy soldiers in this army.”

This. This catches Lord Gautier off guard, painting surprise on his features as his mouth falls slightly open, though he quickly composes himself and puts his hands on his hips.

“What are you saying, exactly?” he asks, almost demands.

“I think you can follow your own dreams, and that you’ve already started.” Richard shakes his head. “I apologize if I’m being too presumptuous. I simply wanted to say that whatever you decide, there will be someone supporting you. As a knight, it’s not my place to tell you what you should be doing, but you are also deserving of happiness, Lord Gautier.” He pauses to take a breath, and smiles. “You’re comfortable here.”

Richard has no desire to push further. Lord Gautier is perfectly capable of choosing a path that will suit him without the meddling of one of his knights. Richard can only try to convey how much he believes in him.

Lord Gautier remains silent for a while, processing everything. He stares at a point past Richard’s head, but it’s not a vacant look like one would expect—it’s full of wonders, considering the meaning behind each word. Then the corner of his lips lifts up as he looks at Richard again.

“Thanks for your support, Richard. The world needs more people like you.”

Richard shrugs, but he’s still smiling. “I’m happy to help, milord.”

* * *

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd is crowned King of Fódlan, acclaimed by his people and counseled by his most trusted friends. Change is slowly brought into the continent, and it will be years before peace truly settles.

Some knights who fought in the war get promoted, others do quit to lead a life free of battle. Richard is one of the former, leading a small force of his own in Gautier territory to chase away bandits and to keep foreign invasions at bay.

Duke Felix Hugo Fraldarius is renown for his swordsmanship that makes every warrior in Fódlan tremble with fear, but his sharp tongue is another one of his weapons that nobles in court don’t wish to be subjected to. And Lord Sylvain Jose Gautier, son of Margrave Gautier, appears at his side more often than not, travels from one territory to another and stops by the capital, but never stays long in Gautier. When he does spend time in his estate, accompanied by Duke Fraldarius, it’s to travel even further North, to Sreng, for talks that Margrave Gautier can’t forbid. The negotiations will take even longer than peace to be agreed upon, but Lord Gautier is relentless in this battle that’s his to fight.

Neither Duke Fraldarius nor Lord Gautier married, despite the pressure their councils put on them. When Richard sees Duke Fraldarius in Fhirdiad or at the Gautier estate, hair tied in a ponytail with a red leather band, he smiles to himself and can’t imagine any other ending.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! A kudo or a comment would be appreciated :D
> 
> / [twitter](https://twitter.com/kornetable)


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